Jo Armitage, Anne Bancroft, is a woman whose life has unfolded across three marriages and a growing brood, leaving her with a wary, withdrawn shell when she discovers that her current husband, Jake Armitage, Peter Finch, has been unfaithful. What begins as a personal crisis soon threads its way through a series of loosely connected moments, where Jake’s steady role as breadwinner and father stands in tension with the hurt of his infidelity. The tension between love and disappointment pulls at the fabric of their relationship, testing whether trust can be rebuilt after betrayal.
Two core tensions drive the narrative. The first centers on Jo’s fertility and how she negotiates the messiness of sex and intimacy. A psychiatrist raises the possibility that Jo might be uncomfortable with intimacy, using childbirth as a coping mechanism, a theory that shadowed her decisions even as she becomes pregnant again. She follows the path suggested by Jake and her doctor, opting for an abortion and later sterilization, and there is a sense of relief in her afterward—a quiet, hard-won sense of control over her body and her life. The second ongoing thread is Jake’s pattern of infidelity woven through his career as a screenwriter. The first clue emerges through Philpot, Maggie Smith, a young woman who had lived with the Armitages for a time, and who raises questions about where affection truly lies. Jake responds with a mix of defensiveness and evasiveness when Jo presses him, leaving her unsettled and searching for certainty.
A second line of doubt surfaces when Bob Conway, James Mason, arrives with a claim about an affair between Jake and his wife during a production in Morocco. The tension escalates as Jake, under Jo’s urgent and heated questioning, confesses some of his infidelities. Jo’s response is fierce and raw: she channels her hurt into an aggressive confrontation with him, and then, in a separate moment of longing and anger, she engages in an affair of her own with a different man. The fracture between husband and wife widens, and Jake’s coldness deepens, underscoring the fragility of their reconciliations and the cost of broken trust.
The finale reframes the entire arc through a quiet, intimate scene. Jo spends a night alone in a windmill near the barn that had been central to their earlier life together, a place loaded with memory and meaning. When Jake and their children arrive the next morning with food, the sight of their happiness offers Jo a reluctant, bittersweet form of closure. She accepts the moment and the man she once loved with a tenderness that carries a heavy weight—a small, solemn gesture: she takes a tin of beer from him, a symbolic echo of a brighter time in their marriage and a cautious acknowledgment that love, even when scarred, remains a possibility for the future.
